Free Club Cupid by Stephanie Bond Page B

herself forward with a jerky overhand crawl. “Randy!” she sputtered. “Can you hear me?”
    In the distance, two yacht-size cruisers were passing, blowing air horns. Her heart thudded in her ears. If a man of his size and strength had been pulled down by an undertow, she’d have very little chance of saving him without becoming a victim herself. Diving shallowly, Frankie tensed for any change in the current of the water around her.
    At first she thought the shadowy fingers floating below her were kelp or some kind of sea flora, then she realized it was Randy’s hair. With a surge of strength, Frankie grabbed a handful and pulled hard while kicking for the surface. To her immense relief, after the initial weight resistance, his body seemed to rise with little effort on her part. Frankie’s first thought was that he must be unconscious. But as soon as she broke the surface, she gasped in amazement when he emerged, eyes wide, his head crooked to accommodate her death grip on his hair.
    “Gee, Red, if you wanted me back on shore, all you had to do was say so,” he said, his voice rich with suppressed laughter.
    Frankie released him with a jerk, coming away with more than one strand of honey-colored hair. Anger blazed through her as she gasped for breath. “I thought…you were…in trouble!”
    His grin flustered her further. “You swam out to save me?”
    “No!” she sputtered. “I mean…yes, dammit!”
    His hearty laugh rumbled out, echoing across the water. With his hair slicked back and the sunglinting off his earring, Randy Tate was quite possibly the most outrageously handsome man she’d ever seen. While Frankie burned with embarrassment at coming to his supposed rescue, the man beamed.
    She scowled and headed back to shore with as much fervor as she could manage with her rubbery limbs, weak from exertion and relief. She heard Randy following her, his occasional spurts of laughter fueling her exasperation.
    He caught up with her in shoulder-deep water. “I do appreciate the gesture,” he said, still smiling.
    Frankie tried to splash the gloating expression from his face. “What the heck were you doing underwater for so long?”
    “I thought you might like this,” he said, lifting his hand to reveal a curved shell the size of his palm.
    “A conch,” she murmured as he placed it in her hand. The hues of the shimmering shell ranged from pale pink to deep rose, with the curved inside nearing purple. “Does it still contain a living animal?”
    “Not this one. It’s yours if you want it. I’d hate for all your memories of the island to be bad ones.”
    “It’s beautiful,” she said, touched. “Thank you, Randy.”
    He grinned and his eyes lifted at the corners. “You’re welcome. And I’m glad we’re back on a first-name basis…Frankie.”
    Ridiculously pleased with his gift and his good humor, she waded out of the water with him, clutching the white suit to her body, recalling the bikini’s transparency. He picked up the towel andher shirt where she’d dropped them, but when she reached for the items, he held on to them, making her pause. “Frankie,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about…earlier.”
    Surprised, her mind raced for an explanation for his apology. Was it a ruse to catch her off guard, to endear her to him further? She bit the inside of her cheek. He looked so damn sincere…but then, he was an actor. Conjuring up a shaky smile, she said, “Let’s forget about it, okay?”
    “Okay,” he agreed with a nod. “Maybe by the time you pick up your money, the police will have found your briefcase.”
    “And I can be on my way,” she said, nodding with him. Except suddenly, stupidly, she hoped the briefcase wouldn’t show up until just before the second ship arrived Sunday. She could spend a couple more days on the island relaxing with…alone. Yes, alone on the beach with a book. A nice, platonic nonfiction book. A cookbook.
    “On your way back to